


thankful

by hudders-and-hiddles (huddersandhiddles)



Series: Tumbling Hudders [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Thanksgiving, Traditions, Vaguely Post S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huddersandhiddles/pseuds/hudders-and-hiddles
Summary: What does it mean to be thankful?





	thankful

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ficlet on Tumblr two years ago and figured today was a good time to finally post it here as well. Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

John is stuffed and sleepy and the tiniest bit drunk, and according to Lisa–Molly’s American cousin who is currently visiting her in London–that’s exactly how he should feel. It’s Lisa who’s to blame here. She’s spending a month visiting Molly, and apparently that time frame includes the American Thanksgiving holiday, and so she had insisted on them hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for all of Molly’s friends, nevermind the fact that no one here celebrates it. She and Molly had cooked far too much food for the few people present, but all of it had been delicious, which is how John finds himself in his current situation. Even Sherlock had eaten more than John had ever seen him eat before and is now looking a bit hazy around the edges. Of course, that could also be due to the several bottles of wine they’ve all finished off this evening, too.

Lisa passes an apple tart around the table, and John wonders if he can manage to find room for a tiny slice. He eyes it greedily, but his better judgment wins out and he passes it on without taking any. Once everyone who wants a slice has one, Lisa says, “Alright, it’s time to say what you’re thankful for.” Everyone looks at her warily, and she rolls her eyes. “Right. I forgot y’all don’t do this. Well, seeing as it’s Thanksgiving, which is about, you know, giving thanks, it’s tradition to go around the table and say something that you’re thankful for this year. I’ll start.” She closes her eyes and thinks for a moment. “I am thankful for my health and my family and for all of y’all helping to make this day special for me.” She turns and looks at Molly in anticipation. “Now you go.”

“O-Okay,” Molly says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, I guess I’m thankful for… my family and friends.” She gives them all a shy smile, though John doesn’t fail to notice that her gaze lingers on Greg a little longer than the rest of them, her smile a little brighter, too.

Greg returns her smile and says, “I’m thankful for you inviting us over Molly. This is nice.” John can feel Sherlock sigh heavily next to him and kicks his foot gently against Sherlock’s ankle in warning. “Oh,” he adds as an afterthought, “And you Lisa for all the food. And you two,” he says looking at John and Sherlock, “for not causing too much trouble on that counterfeiting case last month.”

John shakes his head and laughs, before he realizes it’s his turn and falls quiet again. What is he thankful for? It has been a hell of a year, that’s for sure. It had started with Sherlock almost being shipped off to god knows where only to be brought back again by the threat of Moriarty. Then everything had gone down with Mary, and he had found out the truth about the baby, and in the end he was just glad that he and Sherlock had managed to escape with their lives. And then finally, when all was said and done, he had come back to Baker Street. He had come home. That’s what it had felt like anyway. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the place while he was gone (though he knows deep down that what he really missed was the one other person who had made it feel like home). Moving back to Baker Street had been the one thing that had allowed him to start moving past the mess his life had become, to stop dwelling on the ruins of his marriage and all the pain that it had brought him, and to focus on enjoying the life that was in front of him.

“This year, I’m thankful to be back at Baker Street,” he says, looking at Sherlock, whose lips twist into a half-smile in response. “I’ve gone through a lot this year, and it’s been nice to still have some place to call home through it all.”

Everyone looks at Sherlock expectantly, though John’s expectation is for Sherlock to scoff and tell them all they’re being ridiculous and that it’s stupid for them to be celebrating an American holiday that has historical roots in rebellion against the English and that there’s no reason to be more thankful for something today over any other day of the year.

But Sherlock, as always, is full of surprises. After several long moments of silence, tracing his finger around and around the rim of his wine glass, he takes a deep breath and begins to speak without looking up. “I’m glad I’m not an American,” he says, and John tilts his head in curiosity, not quite understanding the non-sequitur. “If I had grown up in a family where this was required, I would have found myself without anything to say for many, many years.” Something tightens in John’s chest at the thought of Sherlock as such a lonely child. It isn’t hard for him to imagine–he is still a seemingly rather lonely man, after all–but the thought of him as a child without friends, a child who was undoubtedly called a freak (or worse) by those who knew him, a child who was made to feel badly about who he was and the gifts that made him special, makes John want to wrap Sherlock up and smother him in love until the joy in his life outweighs all the sorrow. “And for a long time, I wouldn’t have even wanted to have an answer. I wouldn’t have thought it mattered. But now I find that there are aspects of my life that are made easier because of those around me and that perhaps a bit of gratitude is in order, all things considered.”

“Greg,” Sherlock says, lifting his head to pierce him with a stare, and John has to laugh at the look on Greg’s face, stunned that Sherlock has actually called him by the proper first name. “Long ago you had the courage to take a risk on a kid who, even though he wouldn’t have admitted it, desperately needed help. It’s a risk you’ve never stopped taking, and so because of you, I am able to do work that I find both interesting and fulfilling, and for that I am thankful.” Now it’s John’s turned to look stunned. His head pivots back and forth between the two of them, as he tries to figure out exactly what just happened. Greg almost looks like he could cry. Molly does have tears in her eyes, and Lisa is grinning and clasping her hands together as if so proud that she enabled such a moment to happen.

Sherlock, however, seems to take no notice of anyone’s reaction, and turns to Molly. “Molly, you have helped me far more times than I can count, often at expense to your personal life. Whether I have needed a test run on a blood sample or a corpse to fake my own death,” John grimaces at the reminder of that particular bit of help Molly had given him, “you have always selflessly provided, and I am thankful for that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Molly manages with a watery smile.

When Sherlock turns to Lisa, John thinks he might just have seen it all. Sherlock is rarely this open with anyone, much less a relative stranger. “Lisa, thank you for the meal and for inviting us all to participate in this celebration with you. It has been… enlightening.”

“You can say that again,” Greg mumbles, and everyone laughs, even Sherlock. When silence falls again, Sherlock is looking at John with a warmth and fondness in his eyes that John has never seen, and all the air seems to disappear from the room. John couldn’t breathe if he wanted to.

He waits in wonder at what Sherlock could possibly say to him. They’ve both clearly changed each other’s lives in immeasurable ways. John knows that both of their paths would have been quite different had they not found each other when they did. It had taken him a while to come to terms with the depth of emotion he feels for this man and far, far longer to realize that Sherlock feels as deeply about him. It hadn’t been until everything with Mary that he had truly learned how much Sherlock cares for him, and only since he’s moved back home again has he begun to suspect that Sherlock might actually love him in the same way that he loves Sherlock. There have been fleeting touches and heated looks and quiet nights together in front of the telly, and it feels like they’ve both just been waiting, both hesitant to make the first move. John had thought that perhaps they were getting close, that one of them would take the leap soon, that they would finally end up in each other’s arms saying all the words they’ve needed to say. But he certainly hadn’t considered that such a confession might come at an American Thanksgiving dinner in front of two of their friends and one almost-stranger, and he worries a little at how he might react if those words come out of Sherlock’s mouth now.

“John,” Sherlock says, drawing him out of his thoughts and giving him a small, tender smile. “Thank you.”

That’s all he says, two little words, but John realizes then that that’s all that needs to be said. He knows, if he allows himself to see what’s in front of him, that Sherlock loves him and that Sherlock knows John feels the same. They’ve already told each other so many times and in so many ways. Sherlock told him when he stepped off a roof to save him, when he planned John’s wedding to someone else because he thought it was what John wanted, when he killed a man for him. John told him every time he uttered  _brilliant_  or  _amazing_  or  _fantastic_ , every time he stood up to Mycroft or the Met or a suspect on Sherlock’s behalf, every time he aimed his gun or threw a punch to protect him from harm. They’ve been telling each other for years, but they were both too stupid or too stubborn to hear it. But not anymore. Now they’re both listening. Sherlock says  _thank you_ , and he means  _thank you for sticking with me_ ,  _thank you for coming back to me_ ,  _thank you for loving me_. Sherlock says  _thank you_ , and he means  _I love you_.

“You’re welcome,” John says softly, and he means  _I love you, too_.

They grin at each other like idiots for a moment before Sherlock finally looks away. “Now,” he says, turning back to everyone else. “Let me have another piece of that apple tart.”

As everyone goes back to enjoying the meal and the company, Sherlock slips his hand under the table and places it on John’s thigh, where John covers it with his own and gives it a squeeze. He can see Sherlock’s smile out of the corner of his eye and can’t help the answering grin that forms on his own face. There’ll be time later to say the words for real, but for now  _thank you_  is all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [hudders-and-hiddles](http://hudders-and-hiddles.tumblr.com).


End file.
